


Clint Barton

by FriendlyNeighbourhoodSin



Series: Inside the Mind of.... [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Clint Feels, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Marvel Universe, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Trans Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyNeighbourhoodSin/pseuds/FriendlyNeighbourhoodSin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard for Clint Barton to continuously play the sarcastic, confident fucker. Especially when on the inside he feels completely different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clint Barton

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back from writer's block! I was really excited to write one of these for Clint, then I realized that there wasn't much for him to be upset about. So I may have projected a little bit in terms of my self-esteem, and I'm sorry if it's not the best. I'll be doing Bucky next, so that should be beautifully angst ridden!

From the streets outside, things seemed quite normal. The gym located downtown was quiet and dark, as it should be, since closing had been almost two hours ago. However, things inside were much different. There was a large room in the back with a dull light shining through the crack at the bottom. All that could be heard was the loud thudding of arrows hitting a target, located on the far, back wall.

Steadying his arms, Clint Barton calmed his breathing, standing perfectly still. The arrow suddenly flew from his bow, embedding itself into the target. Bullseye. 

Relaxing himself and letting out a sigh, he lay his bow on the ground and started towards the large red and white target to collect his arrows. There was ten of them, but only six had hit the center mark. He tried not to think about it as he yanked them from the thick material, one by one. They weren’t real arrows, like the ones he used on missions; those were too important and dangerous to be playing with in a place like this. Not that he was reckless or unskilled enough to do so safely, but he still didn’t want to take any chances. His quiver was close by, however. You never know what might happen, and Clint had learned by now by now to expect the unexpected.

He often found himself in this gym, alone at night. He never planned on showing up, but he would wander around downtown, keeping an eye out, and he’d suddenly find himself planted in front of the old building. There was always arrows available for use, even though the equipment was supposed to be in storage. Clint figured that someone had discovered his late night training sessions, but wasn’t able to ever confirm this. He was just happy that he was never kicked out.

Raising his arms once again, he felt a twinge of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, and that was all it took. The split second of being unfocused caused him to fuck up his form, and the arrow that flew from his bow barely managed to sink into the target at all. Fear and stress filled his body, and he just stood frozen in place, staring at his near miss.

Because the gym wasn’t the only thing he was afraid of being kicked out of.

He’d always thought like that, for as long as he can remember. It wasn’t unusual, though, for the way he grew up. In his younger years, he quickly learned that if you can’t do your job, then you’re not needed. You get sloppy, you’re replaced. He can still hear his dad’s stern voice, laced with concern because of how his son hadn’t inherited his skills.

Clint didn’t talk about his family life much. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he was slightly embarrassed with his upbringing. Being raised by carnies and circus people wasn’t exactly respectable, especially when you work along side with people like Tony Stark. With his fancy, rich upbringing.

At least he’s a real Avenger.

Clint sighed again. He’d once again come to the center of the shrubbery maze, as one might say.  
After all, how could a plain, carnie raised, deaf guy be of any use to something like the Avengers Initiative?

Even after all these years, he couldn’t help but question his contribution to S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers. Hand picked by Phil Coulson, and an underling to Nick Fury himself, Clint had yet to realize that he was of any importance.

He remembers the day he was recruited into S.H.I.E.L.D.

The job interview had been incredibly stressful. He had applied on a whim, thinking that maybe his background with the CIA and unbeatable archery skills could get him some low but decent paying position. But whatever was on his resume had attracted the attention of the higher ups, and he soon found himself sitting very tensely in front of Phil Coulson.

It had been going quite well, until he had been asked the dreaded question.

“Now, Mister Barton. As you know, we here at S.H.I.E.L.D take national security very seriously, and can’t have anyone distrustful working for us. You don’t seem overly threatening, but we do have to make sure either way. Now, have you ever legally changed your name?”

Clint felt a bitter chuckle in his throat, but managed to stay professional and find the correct papers in his bag to give to Coulson. This was it. The deal breaker. The reason he left the CIA and the reason why he had extreme difficulties getting any secure employment.

He handed over the papers, and sat stiffly in his chair as he waited for a response. After a couple minutes looking over the papers, Coulson said, without looking up:

“Everything here seems in order, no problems as far as I can tell.”

Clint let out a breath he didn’t really know he was holding, letting a smile smile grow on his face. What came next was unexpected.

“So you a Clint Eastwood fan?”

He wasn’t sure how to respond, but a moment later he cracked his signature sarcastic grin.

“Nah, just saw it in a book once. Really liked it. Besides, anything is better than Julia.”

Coulson grinned too then, before standing up and offering Clint his hand.

“Welcome aboard, Mister Barton.”

 

Standing alone in the gym, Clint didn’t realize he was shivering slightly. It was cold for April, but he didn’t usually have a problem dealing with it. He debated finishing his round of arrows, but had no motivation whatsoever. So he retrieved his arrow from the target, and started packing up.

He felt regret, leaving so early.

Maybe if you stayed longer, you’d actually get better. Maybe you’d finally be worth something, and the team wouldn’t see you as nothing but a burden.

Gritting his teeth, he roughly slung his bag over his shoulder and headed towards the entrance.

Clint Barton knew he was good. He knew he had talents and skills that were seen once in a lifetime. He was sarcastic and saucy with his friends, because he couldn’t let them know what he was really feeling. The anger. The disappointment. The disgust.

After all, he thought, how could a normal, carnie raised, deaf guy be of any importance?

Especially in the protection of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a psa for those of you who might be pissed about the little trans Clint I threw in there: Fuck off. This is one of my favourite headcanons, and if you don't like it then take your transphobia elsewhere.


End file.
